


Losing Gravity

by Mandibles



Series: In which I try to cope with the Colton Thing [9]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 1x05 The Tell, Angst, But they just don't really know how to show their love for each other, F/M, Sad, They are both assholes to each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-26
Updated: 2012-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-17 01:32:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/546147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mandibles/pseuds/Mandibles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Losing control, she thinks, is like losing gravity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Losing Gravity

Losing control, she thinks, is like losing gravity, losing grip. She gropes for it, but it sinks through her hands, slides through her fingers like a fine, delicate mist, and how could this have happened?  Everything was fine not too long ago, perfect with Jackson beside her, firm concrete under her heels. And, that’s what he is to her, this gravitational pull that keeps her feet on the ground. Something as simple as the nose-crinkling reek of alcohol and cologne and the warm wall of him draped over her back shackles her, prevents her from leaving orbit.

But, how he _cries_ , snuffles wetly against his shoulder as he moves, leaves her dangling.

He takes her over the desk, because her headboard is loose, bangs against the wall too easily, and her mother is probably set outside with her ear pressed to the door. That doesn’t make Lydia quiet the small noises she makes as Jackson thrusts into her with quick, rough pounds, his fingers, nails biting into her hips. There’s this hollowness in how Jackson moves, this terrifying nothingness in his dull pants and small sniffles that sends her spiraling into the darkness, adrift somewhere in the world.

When she closes her eyes, red ones open behind her eyelids.

And she _comes_.

Jackson’s thumb circles her clit in a show of goodwill as she shudders through it before his hips start snapping a fierce rhythm that makes the desk jump, pencils and pictures and awards rattling. She catches a glimpse of herself in the vanity mirror as she suffers through him finishing with a sob her mother definitely hears; it almost feels distorted, unreal, her lipstick smudged from Jackson’s drunken greeting kiss, and she finds herself struck by it.

He pulls out slowly, her name— _Lydia_ —tight in his throat. She, however, waits until she hears the familiar squelch and snap of a condom being tied before she looks at him, flicks hair over her shoulder in a simple, natural moment. She finds comfort in the tortured twist of his face, the dark bags under his eyes, as he drops back on her bed, zips up his jeans; it’s good to know that he looks as utterly destroyed as she feels. Gossamer strands tickle her fingertips and she readily grasps the reins.

“So.” She stands to set herself back to rights, flattening down her chemise and kicking away her panties. “Are we going to talk about it?”

Jackson frowns, confused. “Talk about what? The mountain lion?”

Red flickers in Lydia’s vision, disorients her, and she flinches. “No,” she says tightly, “No, I mean _this_. You.” She gestures at him and she can see his jaw set. “You smell like a bar.”

“What of it?” he intones,

“I’m sure you didn’t just _walk_ here, Jackson. Drinking and driving is a whole new low for you.” She doesn’t mention the crying, because even she can’t wrap her brain around that.

“Wha—Are we seriously doing this now?”

Yes, because she _needs_ to.

“You can’t blame me for being worried about you.”

“Worried about me or worried about your lacrosse captain boyfriend?”

“Co-captain,” Lydia tosses blandly, arms folding.

That strikes something, makes Jackson bare his teeth and shoot to his feet, both hands raking through his hair. “I don’t fucking need this,” he spits and Lydia feels the reins tugging out her hands. “ _You’re_ the one who’s been stuffed full of pills and drooling all over yourself, Lydia. I don’t fucking need this,” he repeats, already pushing towards the door. “I don’t need you—”

A sob catching in her throat, Lydia’s on him before she realizes, pressing against his back and clutching him tight before she spirals into space. He’s quick to tear at her hands until her hiss of, “I love you,” gives him pause as always. When he doesn’t answer, she claws at his shirt, the fabric stretching under her fingers. She continues quieter, voice disappearing against him, “Could you say it once? Just once?”

His swallow is loud; Lydia can feel it.

But, then he’s gone, slipping from her fingers, and it leaves her dizzy and breathless, lost in this atmosphereless place.


End file.
